We enjoy talking about our lives, but we enjoy arguing about what happens in death even more. We ask what happens after we die, but what about before? Did we exist before we came to this life? Energy and matter are constantly recycled in this universe, and the soul—the essence that holds all our memories and experiences—also changes form.
Like a hand slipping out of a glove, leaving behind a crumpled piece of old cloth before sliding into a new one. The hand filled out the glove, controlled its movements, and dictated every choice—but the glove is only the cover, much like our physical bodies. We sometimes forget that we are not our bodies, but the pilots of them. We exist as visitors in every new form, experiencing life from a different perspective to understand the other side. However, not everyone recalls who they were before.
There are many factors to consider when asking the question “why?” Sometimes the soul is too burdened by what happened before—if they were a monster, or had monstrous acts done upon them—compelling the soul to forget. The hand can be scarred and bruised when it enters a fresh slate, but its actions are still guided by what it had done before. Sometimes societal pressures make its members forget. If society doesn’t consider the soul, reincarnation, or past lives as real, people who do have flashes of those memories may dismiss them as imagination, eventually shutting those memories away for that life. Others have had their memories deliberately taken by external forces, like soul harvesters—draining their memories and experiences until they are hollow.
For most, the truth is: we don’t remember all our past lives because our brains aren’t built to hold all that memory. The brain is a marvellous machine, but it has limitations, and it struggles to interpret those past-life memories because it hasn’t experienced them firsthand.
People have told me that I’m fortunate to remember my past lives. It’s a blessing and a curse, depending on the memory; however, I don’t consider it to be either. The memories started appearing in childhood—they were emotions and fragments of knowledge. For example, I knew what it felt like to be a grown woman at eight years old. As the years passed, I began to remember more—visions, sounds, deeper feelings, and personal experiences. None of them were in any order, and I was told by my E.T. contacts to let them come rather than probing for more.
Then came the memories of dying. They were the strongest and most emotive. When I remembered dying in Atlantia (Atlantis), my life was ripped from me. That was the first memory I had of that incarnation. Since then, I’ve managed to remember more events going further back. Some were beautiful: playing with my pet bird, A’gesh, and walking down the high marble walls of the opulent city. I even remembered before my birth—my pure essence waiting to be born and live again. More memories, more lives came, including glimpses of when I was just a soul: simple and free, yet eager to breathe again.
Now, those lives are physically gone, but they remain forever in my memory, waiting to open again in the next one. In some lives I died suddenly—the shock of it almost shattered me—but once I realised I was still alive, I had the chance to start again. In other lives, I slowly passed away, either by old age or disease. When that moment came, it felt like I was slipping out of a glove. No pain, no mess, no fear. If I were to compare the experience, it felt like I was waking up to real life. My soul would stretch and yawn after being fused to a small form for so long, and I could move freely again, exploring places I couldn’t reach when I was alive. And when the time came again to be reborn, I would curl up and fall back asleep—having lucid dreams of a life that would one day pass, but I would hold onto for eternity.
From my experience, life between lives is a time for reflection. A time for those bizarre events we faced in life to finally be answered. The Plane of the Dead and Unborn (as I call it) is where souls go—reuniting with old friends and reconnecting to reality. This place is a reflection of one’s consciousness: an endless mindscape built by the mental state of the soul. For one, it might appear as medieval Europe; for another, an endless otherworldly forest. There are no limits.
What of judgment? An even more interesting question with deeper answers. From my experience, the only rule is: “What I do to others will be done to me.” If I ever overstepped that rule, it would be reflected after each life. I would be shown what I had done wrong so I wouldn’t repeat it next time. Not to say I should be a saint—I regularly make mistakes—but that’s what life is about: so we can do better next time.
This is something we must understand. We work our whole lives to figure out who we are and where to go, when the answers are already sitting inside us. That’s what our souls are doing, time and time again—trying to evolve, trying to understand the past so we can see our future. That old saying: we are just drops in one giant ocean. Some may interpret that as insignificance, but in truth, it’s those billions and trillions of drops that make the ocean. We all affect each other, in every life—from the past to the present—forever. Reincarnation is just a cycle that puts us through the spiral, and past-life memories are the tools to help us move forward, to learn, and to wake up.
After all, life is just a dream.
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Lea, this was an amazing explanation of the re-birth cycle, one that most of us can only hope to remember. I wish I can remember the time between the lives and some details of the lives as everything in this lucid dream would make more sense.